


Urgency

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:43:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s said it to Tatsuya before but never like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urgency

Taiga trudges into the house; his hair is still dripping on the wall-to-wall carpeting but it’ll dry out or get soaked up soon enough and right now he’s too exhausted to really care about this rental house. Tatsuya turns to look at him as he walks through the living room, lazy as he is lying on the couch (which he’s probably been doing all day—not that Taiga can blame him, because after all this is a vacation and he deserves a break to lie around as he wants) and Taiga almost stumbles backwards because damn.

There’s something about Tatsuya in this light, the late-afternoon late-July sun somewhere between processed-juice orange and blood orange coming in through the blinds and shining off his hair, his hands folded around the edges of the newspaper and his feet, proportionally smaller than they should be, curled against the arm of the couch, and the serene half-smile that reaches his visible eye. It’s so lovely, so gorgeous, this something—and it stays when he moves, when the clouds cover the sun; once Taiga’s noticed it he cannot stop noticing it; it’s tangling up his vocal cords in his throat and he can’t speak.

He knows Tatsuya’s gorgeous, from having decent eyesight and seeing how appreciative strangers get when they so much as see him (from the way Tatsuya had danced through his adolescent fantasies no matter how hard he’d tried to think of other things). But he’d managed to fool himself into making it a non-issue, suppressed his attraction because of everything in the way, of how their relationship had been a house built of toothpicks and how they’d needed to repair and rebuild so much, had repeated to himself words about pure friendship and brotherhood and platonic love and had told himself the attraction would pass. And it had passed, except now it’s apparently decided to come back; it’s dragged up the things that Taiga’s tried so hard to ignore and is now waving them in his face, about how much he wants Tatsuya, how much he wants to stretch this week long beach trip into forever, how much he wants Tatsuya to be with him, how much he misses Tatsuya when he’s on the road or when Tatsuya’s working a lot, how even a small conversation or cooking a meal together can alleviate some of the tension inside of him.

But with great difficulty, he reaches up his hand to wave; Tatsuya waves back and it’s clear he’s amused by Taiga’s sudden slip into fantasyland. And so he passes the couch, telling himself to think about his surfboard and how he needs new wax and how he can only get it at this one tiny shop up north and he’s got to get out there before the summer is over and somehow he makes it through the room and up the stairs and fuck. How’s he supposed to get through the rest of the week?

* * *

“I think I’m in love with Tatsuya.”

To her credit, Alex doesn’t laugh—she comes close, but she stifles it, and it still hurts a little bit because it’s not funny; it’s serious (but it’s also Alex, and no matter how old they get she will always be so many steps ahead of them she knows them so well). And after that, her face does turn serious, and instead of gently chiding him or making fun of him she ruffles his hair (which really does make Taiga feel like a little kid again).

“Well…what are you going to do about it?”

Taiga shrugs. That’s why he’d told her, after all—even though at this point, with something this important, she can’t tell him exactly what to do.

“What should I do?”

She sighs, ruffling his hair again, slower this time—she’s studying him, blue eyes squinting through her glasses into his face. Her lips are pursed.

“It’s your decision,” she says finally. “But be careful with him, okay? Try not to let him…misinterpret your intentions.”

That’s a tall order, given that Taiga’s not quite sure of his intentions yet—or he’s telling himself that. He knows he wants Tatsuya, and it’s not just the kind of gut physical want—he wants Tatsuya in his life, even more than he already is; he wants time alone with Tatsuya and time in large groups with Tatsuya there, too; he wants Tatsuya’s advice and humor and love; he wants the parts of Tatsuya that even Tatsuya doesn’t want, the part of him that tries too hard at futile efforts and the simmering resentment and the self-centeredness; he wants to quench Tatsuya’s loneliness and self-doubt forever. But he can’t use so many words—he can’t just tell Tatsuya he wants him, either, or even that he loves him (because he has said that so many times in so many ways). He slumps back on the couch. This is no farther than where he’d started.

Alex smiles anyway. “You’ll figure it out.”

Taiga sure as hell hopes so.

* * *

 

Tatsuya pulls him onto the patio before everyone arrives; he can smell the smoke from neighbors’ barbecues curling into the air and mixing with the overwhelming sweet richness of the chocolate cake, fresh from the oven, that’s Tatsuya’s annual birthday present for him. Taiga’s had to work hard to contain himself, from sticking a finger in the batter (Tatsuya had batted it away the one moment he absolutely couldn’t resist, though) and just eating the whole fresh cake and from touching Tatsuya—Tatsuya with flour and batter all over him, Tatsuya sweating from proximity to the hot oven, Tatsuya with an easy smile on his face. And just for a moment, Tatsuya’s hand is on his wrist and Taiga almost breaks.

Tatsuya dips his hand into his pocket. “I got you another present.”

“Tatsuya—”

Tatsuya shakes his head and lifts his hand; in it is a small white jar with the familiar logo of that tiny surf shop. “I noticed you were running low.”

And Tatsuya knows, even though he doesn’t surf and even though Taiga hadn’t asked for it; he knows how special it is and he’s pressing it into Taiga’s palm and smiling up at him like this and, oh.

“Happy birthday,” Tatsuya says.

And then Taiga leans in and kisses him; Tatsuya’s mouth is warm and wet and so responsive, pushing back but not pushing him away, and he’s the first one to open his mouth. Taiga brings his hand up to Tatsuya’s face, fingering the warm, soft flesh of his cheek; his tongue pokes against Tatsuya’s, tracing a line across his top teeth. God, this is better than he could have imagined, like the satisfaction of eating a cheeseburger and reveling in the taste but wanting more of it, only the satisfaction and hunger and want are all so much greater, deeper, more urgent—and they remain when Tatsuya finally pulls away and they catch their breaths.

“I love you,” Taiga says—he’s said it to Tatsuya before but never like this; the meaning has never been this one and it’s never had so many different connotations and he’s never been touching Tatsuya’s face like this.

Tatsuya’s expression is half-frozen; confusion is writing itself on his face, halting and starting again like letters and words on a glitching computer screen. His lips are still parted slightly; he hasn’t blinked—this is perhaps the most honest and unedited, full of the purest and rawest emotion, that he’s ever seen Tatsuya look. And then, eventually he does blink; he shakes his head slowly as if to settle whatever’s in the wrong place inside of him. Taiga’s not sure if he should kiss him again, if he should say something—apologize? But he’s not sorry, and that could give Tatsuya all the wrong ideas and lead him down all the wrong paths away from where he wants to go and Alex had said to be clear about his intentions and Taiga doesn’t know what could be clearer than that kind of kiss but this is Tatsuya and they’ve always misunderstood and misread each other to the worst degree.

“Tatsuya,” he says, urgency creeping into his voice before he can slam the door on it.

He brushes his thumb over Tatsuya’s cheekbone, the contours he’s traced mentally so many times just the way he’d imagined they’d feel under the pad of his finger. Tatsuya’s still pressing the jar of wax into his other hand, and those fingers tap against the hollow Taiga’s wrist. Taiga exhales the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding (and for how long?) and lets his thumb still. Tatsuya’s fingertips halt in line on Taiga’s hand, and then he speaks.

“I love you, too.”

It’s a whisper, still almost breaking like a call over the Pacific, through the static and the distance; the message is clear when he looks up at Taiga in what is meant to be a glance to gauge his reaction but Taiga doesn’t know what the fuck his face is doing right now, so he leans back down. He waits for Tatsuya’s move this time, though; it’s a few seconds before their lips connect again and Tatsuya brings his free hand up to the back of Taiga’s neck, sliding under the chain holding his ring, and the touch sends a jolt through him that’s not at all like static electricity or anything else he’s felt before. Taiga sighs into it and Tatsuya’s mouth pushes and curls against his as if he’s trying not to smile and even though their bodies are still a few inches away Taiga can feel Tatsuya’s heat and he smiles back against Tatsuya’s lips.


End file.
